


Flufftember #10

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - All Media Types, Trouble in the Heights (2011)
Genre: Arguing, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26490763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: Flufftember prompts:Nevactacus - food
Relationships: Caractacus Potts/Nevada Ramirez
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36
Collections: Flufftember 2020, Nevactacus





	Flufftember #10

Nevada pulled his car into the garage beside Chitty and killed the engine, climbing out as the garage door lumbered closed. “You’re home early,” he told Caractacus, who was standing near the door that led into the house. “You didn’t text for a ride?”

“No, it’s a nice day. Figured I’d walk, surprise you.”

“Huh,” Nevada answered. It didn’t take a genius to notice something was on Caractacus’s mind. “What’s up?”

“Where were you?” 

Nevada bristled automatically. “Out,” he said, walking slowly toward the other man. “If you wanted a ride, all you had to do—”

“I wanted to walk,” Caractacus cut in. He paused, studying Nevada for a moment. “I saw you, parked on the corner by the library? I was going to walk over…”

“Yeah? And?”

Caractacus didn’t like the guilt that flitted across Nevada’s face, there and gone in an instant. It made his stomach twist. He didn’t want to assume the worst, but he’d been unable to think of an innocent reason for what he’d seen. Nevada and another man had been behind the car, hidden mostly from view by the open trunk, so Caractacus hadn’t seen much. But he _had_ clearly seen the stranger tucking several folded bills into his pocket when he walked away from the car just moments before Nevada closed the trunk and climbed into the driver’s seat. 

“And you seemed busy so I didn’t want to interrupt anything.”

“The fuck’re you talking about?” Nevada asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at Caractacus. 

Caractacus knew him well enough to recognize the defensiveness in his posture and voice, and he sighed in frustration. Sometimes, getting Nevada to open up was like trying to squeeze blood from an onion. “I don’t want to fight, I only want—”

“You don’t wanna fight? Standing here waiting for me? You wanna accuse me of something, just say it.”

Caractacus stared at him for several seconds, working to keep control of his own anger. “I’m not accusing you of anything,” he finally said slowly. Caractacus could think of nothing good to be brokered from the trunk of a car. However: “What you do is your business,” he said. “I trust you to keep any illegal activity well away from my children and our home.”

“I don’t do _illegal activity_ anymore,” Nevada said. He studied Caractacus. “What the fuck do you think you saw?”

“It looked like you were either buying or selling something out of your trunk.”

Nevada’s expression tightened, and some of the fight went out of his posture. “Must be drugs, right?”

“I didn’t say that,” Caractacus said. “Drugs, weapons, stolen property, sex, whatever you might be—”

“You think I was paying for sex?”

“All I’m saying is—”

“In the trunk of my car?”

“Or behind it, I don’t know—”

“Next to the library right by the school?”

“Chrissake, Nevada,” Caractacus snapped, “I said I don’t _know_ what you were doing, I just hoped you’d talk to me—that we could have a conversation without it turning into a fight. I _know_ you’ve been trying, I’m not discounting the efforts you’ve made, and if you’re in trouble or need my help—with _anything_ —all you have to do is _talk to me_.”

Nevada sighed and uncrossed his arms to scrub his hands over his face. “Okay. Okay,” he said, sounding agitated. “C’mere.” He fished his keys out of his front pocket and strode around to the back of his car to unlock the trunk. Caractacus approached somewhat cautiously as Nevada threw up the lid. 

Caractacus peered into the trunk, blinking several times as he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. 

Cookies. 

The trunk was full of Girl Scout cookies. Dozens of loose boxes, plastic shopping bags filled with a variety of flavors, several unopened cases. There was no way he could count how many boxes there were, but a quick survey and mental calculation told him there must be _at least_ a thousand dollars worth of cookies in front of him, maybe closer to fifteen hundred.

“What…” He stopped, because he wasn’t entirely sure what question to ask. He reached in and picked up a carton of Samoas, turning it around in his hands. “You bought a trunkful of Girl Scout cookies from some guy in ripped jeans and flannel?”

“You’re insulting someone’s clothes?” Nevada paused. “Actually it was several guys. And a few women.”

Caractacus turned to him. “ _Why_?”

“There a law against liking cookies?”

“Oh. Oh, you just _like cookies_ , is that it?” 

“ _Sí_ ,” Nevada said, once more crossing his arms.

Caractacus held up the box of Samoas. “These?”

“Sure.” Nevada’s stony face gave nothing away, but Caractacus saw the briefest flicker of unease in his eyes.

Caractacus tore open the flap and pulled out the plastic sleeve. He threw the box into the trunk and turned the sleeve around in his hands. It was sealed, so he ripped open an end and pulled out a cookie.

“Looking for drugs?” Nevada asked. “Think I’d hide something in _cookies_ —” He broke off when Caractacus held the Samoa toward Nevada’s mouth.

“Why don’t you have one right now? Seems you’ve got plenty, why wait?”

A muscle jumped in Nevada’s jaw. The two men glared at each other for several seconds, but Nevada wasn’t about to back down from a bluff. “Fine,” he said, opening his mouth and leaning forward to bite the cookie.

Caractacus snatched it back out of reach. “You’re allergic to coconut but you’d rather eat it than tell me the truth?” 

“Prob’ly won’t kill me,” Nevada said with an insolent shrug of one shoulder. “Just get a little itchy.”

“Then maybe I’ll eat a whole box before the next time I suck your knob.”

“You know I _hate_ when you call it that.”

“Maybe I’ll tell Jemima that you bought thousands of dollars worth of black market cookies—”

“No,” Nevada said, looking genuinely alarmed for the first time. 

“—instead of buying from her.” Caractacus regarded him. “You’re scared of my kid?”

“I ain’t scared of _shit_ , least of all your little crotch-goblins,” Nevada said. “I just don’t want to listen to all the whining.” He reached up and slammed the trunk closed. 

“For the love of God, would you please stop being so fucking _obstinate_ and _contrary_ and simply explain to me _why_ you have so many cookies?”

Nevada drew a breath through his nose and let it out slowly. For long moments it didn’t seem like he was going to answer, and Caractacus was ready to throw the package of Samoas out of pure frustration. 

“She wanted the bike.”

Caractacus hesitated. “What?”

“ _Ella quería_ _la_ _bicicleta_ , _la_ _niña_ who sells the most goddamn cookies gets the fuckin _bike_.”

Caractacus tossed the package of cookies onto the closed trunk so he could run both hands into his hair. “It would’ve been cheaper to buy a bike than… _this_.” He gestured wildly toward the trunk. 

“I told her that but she wanted to win. And there was no way she was gonna win with that rich little asshole Candace Ripley—”

“Candace is a nine-year-old girl.”

“She’s an asshole. And your brat wouldn’t let me buy the cookies she needed to sell to win fair.”

“Are you...are you telling me you sent _ringers_ to buy cookies from my child? All these cookies?” He gestured toward the trunk again. “She thinks she sold these to strangers?”

“This is just the first batch,” Nevada said. “Soon’s I find a place to hide ‘em, I’ll pick up the second round tomorrow.”

Caractacus stared at him, unsure whether he should laugh, cry, or yell. “How much money did you spend on these?”

Nevada pursed his lips. “I don’t wanna tell you,” he said, and Caractacus couldn’t help but laugh, then. Nevada glared at him from beneath a scowl. “And you better not tell her.”

Caractacus laughed harder. “You’re afraid of my kid,” he repeated, undaunted by Nevada’s dark look. 

“Are you done?”

“What’re you going to do when Jeremy starts selling popcorn? You park your car in the sun too long it’ll pop away—”

“I know you think you’re funny. Besides, the boy’ll just let me pay for a bike if he wants one, he ain’t unreasonable like _Dama_.”

Caractacus swiped tears of laughter from his eyes and stepped forward. “Nevada,” he said, struggling to keep a straight face. “What the bloody _hell_ are we supposed to do with all these cookies?”

“Donate somewhere?” Nevada asked. His lips twitched with the first hint of amusement; he couldn’t possibly stay angry or defensive in the face of Caractacus’s laughter. “Except the mint ones, I’m keeping those.”

Caractacus grabbed the lapels of Nevada’s jacket and pulled him closer. “You are out of your mind,” he said. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Nevada’s lips. “And sweet.”

“Me? You thought I was paying for sex, don’t think I forgot.”

“You paid five dollars a box for cookies you’re _allergic to_ ,” Caractacus said, overcome by another fit of laughter. He dropped his forehead against Nevada’s chest.

“Shit, no. I gave them five bucks a box to buy the cookies, had to pay another five when they delivered.”

Caractacus lifted his head to stare at him through leaking eyes. “Ten dollars a—Why didn’t you just pay regular price and let them _keep the cookies_?”

“They could’ve taken my money and ran.”

Caractacus pressed his lips together in a futile attempt to keep the laughter at bay. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Nevada said, his face finally splitting into a grin, “alright. So it wasn’t the best plan. But one thing I know? Our kid’s gonna win that bike.”

Caractacus put his hands on Nevada’s face and kissed him. Nevada circled an arm around the other man's back, pulling him closer. “Candace Ripley can suck it,” Caractacus murmured against Nevada’s lips, and Nevada laughed. “Can you hook me up with a box of the lemon ones?”

“Sure. For ten dollars.”

Caractacus laughed and planted another kiss on Nevada’s lips. “You’re lucky I love you,” he said, turning and looping his arm around Nevada so they could head toward the house. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Nevada repeated. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Caractacus’s temple. “Okay, nine dollars.”


End file.
